


Today is the

by outruntheavalanche



Category: Glee
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Bullying, Contrived Plot Devices, Emotionally Distant Parents, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Jossed, Not!Fic, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Speculation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The slow walk down the hall to Principal Figgins’ office has to be the longest walk of David Karofsky’s life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today is the

**Author's Note:**

> **Original notes:** I wanted to try a different, non emotionally and/or physically abusive angle on Karofsky’s parents. Also, canon seems fuzzy on whether or not Dave plays hockey, football or both, so I went with both even though I think the high school hockey and football seasons run concurrently ~in real life~. 
> 
> Thanks to [**emeh**](http://emeh.livejournal.com/) for the read through. 
> 
> This is my first _Glee_ fic so, uh. :D
> 
> Title from “Today,” by Smashing Pumpkins. 
> 
> **Addendum:** I started this based on some speculation about an episode that never came to fruition.
> 
> This was never finished because when _Glee_ went creepy stalker route with Karofsky I kind of lost interest in writing a ~redemption arc~ I guess. If I'd finished it, Kurt and Karofsky would've become friends or at least non-adversaries.

> i wanted more  
>  than life could ever grant me
> 
> The Smashing Pumpkins | **Today**  
> 

The slow walk down the hall to Principal Figgins’ office has to be the longest walk of David Karofsky’s life. Longer than the walk out of the lockerroom to the ice surface. Even longer than the walk down the long, dark concrete tunnel to the football field.

He feels like now, more than ever, all eyes are on him and not for anything good. It’s like he’s moving in slow motion and everyone gets a good look at him. Then he sees them among the other students, Hummel’s friends: the wheelchair kid, the Asian goth with the blue streaks in her hair, the big black girl. They all look at him with contempt as they see him approach. David lowers his head, shouldering past them for Figgins’ office.

Kurt and his dad are sitting outside the principal’s office with miserable expressions on their faces. Then Kurt’s dad looks up and spots David, going rigid next to his son.

“Is this the son of a bitch who hurt you?” David hears Hummel’s dad ask, his voice sharp against his ears.

David sits on the far end of the bench across from them and avoids looking at them. 

“No, Dad,” Kurt says, with a tired sigh. “That was Azimio.”

David glances up at him but he can’t find it in himself to say anything. He doesn’t know what he would say if he could, anyways. He sucks at speaking if it’s not to hurl insults. It’s the one thing he’s really good at. 

It’s okay, though. David can admit to himself he’s not really that good at anything, not even hockey or football. If he were any good, he’d have a pile of letters typed up on fancy stationery waiting for him at home. He’d have recruiters and coaches knocking down his door and he wouldn’t have to worry about money.

He doesn’t.

David rubs his hands through his hair and then tugs at it. Maybe he’ll just pull it all out before he can go bald. Then maybe he’ll get himself a wig.

“I want to say something to him,” he hears Kurt’s dad say, gruffly.

“Dad, just leave it.”

“Kurt, it’s not right-- ”

Then Principal Figgins’ door whooshes open and Donna, the secretary, is standing in front of them. She’s wearing a bright orange sweater with a green lacy collar and David wants to make a smartassed crack-- does she think this is _Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin or what_ \-- but he can’t bring himself to.

“Principal Figgins will see you now,” she says. She turns towards David, still holding the door open. “Where are your parents?”

David looks up at Donna in alarm; he hadn’t expected her to speak to him. “They-- they’re running late,” he stutters.

“Okay,” she says, pushing the door open a little wider. “C’mon in.”

David follows Kurt and his dad into the principal’s office. The glee club teacher, Mr. Schuester, is sitting in one of the chairs, and Principal Figgins is sitting behind his desk, looking concerned, hands locked in front of him on his desk. 

David sits down in the empty chair closest to Mr. Schuester.

“Thank you for coming,” Principal Figgins says over the hush of the closing door. “I know this was short notice, Mr. Hummel.”

David sneaks a side-glance Kurt’s way. He’s staring straight ahead, hands wrapped around his knees primly. He wonders what Kurt is looking at.

“I just wanna know right off the bat, what happened to that Azimio kid,” Kurt’s dad asks, putting a big, meaty hand on the desk.

David wonders if Kurt’s dad is the kind who rules with an iron fist, but something inside tells him he’s not.

“I feel a little weird about going forward without David’s parents present,” Mr. Schuester speaks up.

David raises his head and sees that all eyes are, once again, on him. He’s reminded of how Kurt’s glee club friends stared him down. Like they hated him. No one here is on his side. He knows however this shakes out, it won’t be good for him, regardless of whether or not his parents even make it or not.

“Where are your parents, young man,” the principal asks.

“They’re late,” David mutters.

“Are they caught in traffic? Maybe you can call them. If you don’t have a phone, you can use mine,” Mr. Schuester says, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

“They’re kinda piss-- I mean, they’re not very happy about this,” David says, nodding towards Mr. Schuester without looking at him. He focuses on the tips of his loafers.

“Can you really blame ’em,” Kurt’s dad grumbles under his breath.

David doesn’t say anything in response, looks at the carpet instead.

“Well, I guess we can wait a few minutes until they arrive,” Principal Figgins says.

The door opens, as if on cue, and David turns in his seat. His parents rush into the office, looking flustered and angry, their trench coats flapping like birds’ wings.

“What’s the meaning of this,” his father asks, his tone short. “I got pulled out of a very important meeting.”

“ _This_ is a very serious situation, Mr. Karofsky. Please, sit down.” Mr. Schuester stands and offers his seat to David’s mother.

She plops down and immediately starts in on him, reaching out and tipping his face up, forcing him to make eye contact with her like he’s still a dumb kid or something. “David, what did you do?”

He squirms away from her. “Didn’t do anything.”

Kurt’s dad barely bites back a laugh.

David’s father sits on the other side of him. “David, you tell me what’s going on or, so help me God-- ”

“Honey, you’re not helping anything,” David’s mother jumps in. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yes, let’s,” Principal Figgins says, picking up a folder. “There was an incident earlier in the day, involving your son, Kurt Hummel and another boy, Azimio.”

“Incident?” David’s mother turns to him again, eyes going wide. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” David fires off, straightening in his chair. He can see Kurt, out of the corner of his eye, stiffening in his seat at that, but David doesn’t dare look at him.

“Eyewitnesses say your son and this other boy, Azimio, confronted Kurt in the hallway between classes,” Figgins continues, in that funny, unplaceable accent of his, “and shoved him into a locker.”

“David!” His mother sounds horrified.

David leans away from her, from her disgust and disappointment. “It’s not like it sounds.”

“It’s _exactly_ like it sounds,” Kurt’s dad snaps from the other side of the small office that seems only to be growing smaller, closing in more and more on David. He turns to David’s parents. “Your son’s been pushing around my boy for months. Heck, _years_. Nice kid you raised. Real damn nice.”

“Dad,” Kurt says quietly.

“Is this true?” David’s father looks at him, blue eyes steely, like winter. David feels chilled all over.

He looks down, ashamed, and nods. “Yeah.”

“He only shoved him into a locker,” David’s mother speaks up. “That doesn’t sound _too_ bad.”

Kurt’s father speaks again, sounding angrier. “Lady, that’s harassment.”

“That’s not all of it,” Figgins says, holding a hand up to David’s mother to shut her up. “After Kurt was shoved into the locker, Azimio attacked him. Another student, Sam Evans, jumped in to defend Kurt and the two began fighting. That boy was subsequently injured and then David got involved.”

David closes his eyes at the sound of his mother’s disappointed little gasp.

“He and Azimio fought in the hallway until Mr. Schuester stepped in and separated them,” Figgins concludes, putting down his folder.

“It sounds to me like David tried to break up the fight,” his father says, confused. “Why’s he being treated like _he’s_ the one in the wrong?”

David glances over at his father. He looks bewildered, like how could anyone accuse his boy of doing something bad? He wants to laugh at how little his parents really know him, but he doesn’t. Laughter would kind of seem out of place right now, given the situation, anyways.

“David,” Mr. Schuester says gently. “You need to tell them what happened.”

He looks at Kurt again. Kurt is still pointedly not looking at him, and his hands are still clasped tightly around his knees. David can see his nails digging into the fabric of his pants.

“It started ’cause of something I told Azimio the other day,” David mumbles, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I-- I told Azimio that Kurt, uh, that Kurt kissed me.”

“ _What_? You’re saying this boy harassed you?” his father asks, appalled. He looks at Kurt, as if to size him up.

“I really don’t see why David is-- ” his mother starts in, leaning towards Principal Figgins’ desk.

David is tired of her trying to defend him, tired of her stupid voice. Tired of wanting and running away. Tired of Mr. Schuester being so _fucking nice_ and trying to help. Tired of Kurt refusing to look at him. Tired of everything. David drops his arm and slumps a little in his seat. 

“He didn’t do anything, Mom,” David says, defeated and so fucking _tired_. “I lied.”

“Why would you lie about something like that,” she asks. “I thought we raised you better than that!”

Once again, he feels like all eyes are on him. Now, even Kurt is looking at him. David looks back before looking away.

“It was me. I was the one who-- who-- ” David can’t make himself finish the sentence, voice up and dying on him. So fucking unfair. He looks down, cheeks flushing in shame.

“ _You_ harassed that boy,” his father concludes, sounding like all the air just got punched out of his lungs. He sits back in his seat and stares straight ahead, this weird shocky expression on his face, making his features all slack like an opponent after David’s just smashed them into the boards with a pretty righteous body check.

“I-- I-- yeah,” David whispers.

“Because of the nature of the assault, Kurt is within his rights to press charges for sexual harassment-- ” David flinches at the words “-- if he wishes to.” Principal Figgins drums his fingers on top of the folder on his desk.

“Oh my God,” his mother moans, sounding horrified. “Oh, David. I can’t believe this.”

“Why would you do something like that? _Why_?” David’s father reaches out and swats him upside the head.

“Now, Mr. Karofsky, that’s not going to help,” Mr. Schuester jumps in, ever the wannabe white knight. “David is in some serious trouble, but he also needs a lot of help.”

David gets up out of his seat and grabs onto the back, because he thinks his legs might just go out from under him or something. Everyone has to know by now what he did to Kurt. Everyone has to know he’s a fag. 

Fuck, his life is over. 

David’s chest is tightening and it feels like he’s drowning. His head starts spinning, and he can feel his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. _That’d be kind of fitting_ , David thinks, dazed, holding on tightly to the back of his chair.

“David, sit down,” his father says, sternly.

“I need some air,” David says. The room is swirling around his head. He kind of feels like he’s in one of those carnival funhouses. Those always make his head spin.

“C’mon, son,” Mr. Schuester says, tone gentle, getting up and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t. I just-- I need some air.” David pushes Mr. Schuester’s hand away.

“All you all right? You look kind of-- ”

David doesn’t hear the end of the sentence. He passes out.

-

When he comes to, he’s not in Principal Figgins’ stuffy little office, under the scrutiny of his parents and Kurt and his dad and whoever else wants to judge him. He’s got to be in the school nurse’s office or something.

David sits up and immediately regrets it; his head throbs painfully and he flops back down on the examining table.

“Oh, you’re up. Good.” The school nurse walks over to him with a paper cup of water and a white pill. “This’ll help with the headache.”

“What’s going on,” David mumbles. The inside of his mouth is all dry and cottony, and he drinks the water gratefully.

“I think baby had his first panic attack,” the nurse says, passing him the headache pill.

David snorts softly, shakes his head, and swallows the pill down dry. “That’s fuckin’ great. My parents abandon me or what?”

The nurse pats him on the shoulder. “They’re waiting outside for you. You gave ’em quite a scare.”

David thanks her for the water and medicine and, wouldn’t you know it, his head is already starting to feel better. Once she’s certain he’s one hundred per cent-- ha, as if-- okay, she lets David join his parents outside in the hallway.

His mother stands when he steps out, hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head bowed. “How are you feeling?” she asks, her tone surprisingly gentle and concerned. David had been expecting to get quite a tongue-lashing.

“Like I got run over with a truck,” David mutters.

His mother starts fussing over him, rubbing her thumb over some non-existent smudge on his face. “You’ve been suspended for a week,” she says, licking at her thumb and coming at David with it. 

David ducks the incoming thumb deftly. “Only a week? But Azimio got kicked out.”

“They determined Azimio was the aggressor,” his father says, getting up slowly and shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “They said because you tried to break up the fight, you would only receive a week’s suspension and a month’s worth of detention.”

David looks down, still feeling ashamed and-- something he can’t quite place. Grateful he got off so lucky? Nah, that’s not it. David’s never been good at sorting through this feelings stuff, though. 

“What about the Hummel kid? Is he, you know, is he gonna . . .” David trails off.

“No, he’s not,” his father says, tone back to being brusque and clipped. “Consider yourself very lucky, David.” He turns to David’s mother. “Let’s go home.”

-

It’s something they don’t talk about, once they get home and David starts serving his suspension. Sure, they talk about the fight. They talk about the “poor little Hummel kid,” about Azimio and military school, about where the hell Principal Figgins is from, but not David’s-- problem.

It’s weird. David feels like it’s hanging over his head in bright, flashing, rainbow-colored neon lights-- **G-A-Y** \-- but only he knows it’s there. Or, really, only he’s willing to _acknowledge_ it’s there.

The fact he’s even _acknowledging_ the unsaid words floating around their heads at dinner feels monumental, makes David feel like he’s been knocked off-kilter.

“Pass the salt, please,” his mother says, and David’s jumbled thoughts clear away like smoke.

He slides the little chipped gnome salt-shaker across the table to his mother, wordlessly, and returns to his own dinner.

“Buckeyes won,” his father comments, cutting into his steak with his fork and knife. “Beat up on Michigan like they stole something.”

David’s mother chuckles and eats some of her steak. “That’s wonderful, dear. One more thing to rub into your annoying cousin Jerry’s face at the family reunion.”

David smiles at that, a hollow gesture he barely feels, and continues to push his peas around on his plate, into a mound of mashed potatoes.

“You’ve barely eaten a single bite, David,” his mother says.

David glances up at her. “I’m not hungry.”

She sighs wearily and attacks her steak with her knife and fork, sawing it up into smaller and smaller pieces. “If you’re not hungry, you can put it in the fridge for later.”

“Okay. May I be excused then?” David puts his fork down and waits for his parents’ approval before pushing away from the dinner table and taking his plate with him.

Once he’s Saran-wrapped his meal and shoved the plate into the fridge, David clomps up the stairs to his bedroom. He can hear his parents murmuring in low, hushed tones, though, so David stops in the stairwell to listen in on them. Maybe they’re talking about him. Maybe they’re planning to send him away to military school or something, like he overheard about Azimio on his way out of McKinley that afternoon.

“I really do _not_ know what’s gotten into him,” his mother says. “He’s always been such a good boy!”

“He’s obviously not been that good if other students have reason to file goddamn _sexual harassment charges_ against him,” his father snaps.

David wraps his arms around his knees and presses his forehead against the wooden bannister, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What are we going to do?” His mother sounds broken and David, in turn, feels very broken.

“Azimio’s father told me he’s sending him off to military school-- ”

“We can’t send David off to military school!”

“I wasn’t suggesting that. I was just saying,” his father sighs.

David’s heard enough. He scrubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath before pushing himself to his feet and stomping into the dining room. “I’ll get out of your hair then. Have a nice night.” 

David’s practically yelling by the end, but he doesn’t care anymore. He just feels so angry and spiteful at his parents, at the whole world. His parents look down at their half-empty plates, awkward and uncomfortable, and David wishes they would just look at _him_ , really see who he is for the first time in his stupid life.

Neither of them speaks, and David turns on his heel, grabs his red letterman jacket off the coat rack and leaves.

-

David walks down to the dollar movies and thinks about maybe buying a ticket for _The Deathly Hallows_ , but he never read the Harry Potter books-- too long and too many of them-- and it’d be kind of weird for a guy to see a movie alone anyways. His teammates only go to movies because the theaters are dark and they can make out with their girlfriends in the back row. David doesn’t have a girlfriend to go see a movie with, of course. Plus, it’s Harry fucking Potter. All the grown ups would probably just think he’s some perv who’s only there to creep on little kids.

He decides against the movie and crosses the street to the tiny, tucked-into-the-wall coffee place opposite the theater. He pushes the door open and bells jangle cheerily. The whole place is decked out in Christmas wreathes and lights and shit. It makes David’s eyes tired.

He looks at the tall menus with all the fancy names printed in block letters, and can’t make heads or tails of them. He orders a Venti Mocha Americano even though he as no idea if it’s any good or what the hell that name even means. He just hopes it doesn’t suck and that no one he knows walks into this place and sees him buying this fruity mocha thing.

“Karofsky.”

 _Shit. That sounds like--_ David turns slowly. _Of course it’s Kurt. Of fucking course. This just means that God hates him._ He nods slightly before turning back to the counter, where a girl in an elf hat is making up his order. “Hummel.”

“Didn’t peg you for the café type,” Kurt says, fucking _sauntering_ over to the counter. He’s wearing a coat that looks like it probably cost more money than David will ever see in this lifetime. And he smells ridiculously good, but David quickly pushes that thought out of his mind. 

“I’m not. Just started walking around and this is where I ended up,” David grunts, slapping his money on the counter. Elf Hat Girl pushes a giant plastic cup filled to the rim with this mocha stuff over to him and takes the money. It smells pretty good, so he focuses on that instead of whatever girly perfume Kurt decided to bathe himself in that day.

“Oh,” Kurt says. He places an order with a pleasant smile and steps away from the counter. Kurt glances over at David with this _look_ that he just can’t figure out. Whatever it is, though, he decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t think it’s a good thing.

“Oh?” David grabs his receipt and drink and heads for the exit.

“Wait.” Kurt scurries after him and David stops, turning to face him.

“What is it?” he asks. David’s surprised at how weary he sounds.

“I shouldn’t even be bothering, but,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes at himself, “how are things with your parents?”

David thins his lips and tightens his hand around his drink. “I’m not talking with you about this here. See you in a week, Hummel.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding like a threat, but he’s sure it does. Everything he says to Kurt these days comes out sounding, at the very least, vaguely threatening.

Kurt seems unbothered though. “All right. Goodbye, Dave.”

He nods and slips outside, past a mother clutching a screaming child in her arms.

It isn’t until he’s halfway home, practically frostbitten from head to toe, sniffly, and fucking miserable, that he realizes Kurt called him by his first name.

-

When he gets back to school the following week, it’s like he’s a non-factor. He still has sports, but that’s about it. Even the guys look at him funny, like they know. Like they know the thoughts that race through his mind when he’s alone. Like they judge him and blame him for Azimio being gone.

David wants to tell them it’s Kurt’s fault, that _he’s_ blameless and Kurt just led him astray or something, but he can’t, not anymore. It makes him feel sick to his stomach that he can’t even put this all on Kurt now. All his defenses are breaking down and it’s fucking scary, scarier than a three hundred pound defensive end bearing down on you with nothing but your complete and utter annihilation in his heart. Scarier than getting your head slammed into the boards so hard you see stars and has you wondering if the next hit you take’ll be your last

Things at home haven’t gotten much better, either. Both his parents seem like they’ve been filmed over with ice. All their conversations are awkward, brittle. _The last little bit of warmth_ , David thinks, during a particularly dramatic and pathetic moment during lunch, _was choked out of our family because of me_.

Then, he gets the _really_ bad news. 

Coach Sylvester has somehow managed to talk Principal Figgins, Mr. Schuester and even his parents into David joining the glee club as part of his punishment.

“The point is for you to see how the other half lives,” Mr. Schuester had told him after Spanish class. 

David isn’t really sure what _seeing how the other half lives_ means, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want Mr. Schuester, pretty much the only adult in this stupid place who doesn’t treat him like a Neanderthal-- he googled that word after Kurt called him it and found, after several misspelled attempts, that it meant something not very nice-- who drags his knuckles on the ground and clubs women over the head or a pathetic, miserable loser who needs love and support or something gay like that.

“Yes, I understand,” David says, even though he doesn’t, not really.

Mr. Schuester pushes open the door to the glee room and David steps through.

“Kids, I’ve got an announcement,” Mr. Schuester says.

All eyes are immediately on David and the random buzz of conversation stops abruptly. David looks around the room, sees the familiar looks of contempt in their eyes and on their faces. The annoying, bossy girl in the Pepto-pink sweater set-- is Rachel her name? he sucks at placing names with faces sometimes; his father jokes sometimes that it’s all the football and hockey hits he’s taken-- jumps to her feet and marches directly over to Mr. Schuester, arms pumping.

“Mr. Schue, there has to be some sort of mistake here,” she cries out dramatically, turning to shoot daggers at David, her dark hair swinging like a curtain.

“This,” Mr. Schuester says, nodding first to her and then the room at large, clapping a hand on David’s shoulder, “is the announcement I was going to make.”

David looks away from Rachel and shoves his hands deeply into his pockets. He sees Finn and Puck in the far corner of the room, watching him intently, and they definitely don’t look very happy. It kind of weirds David out. Maybe they’re plotting revenge or something.

“As part of David’s detention, he is going to be joining the glee club,” Mr. Schuester says, over the groans of its members. “Now, now, guys. I think this is a great opportunity.”

“Mr. Schue, don’t you think this is kind of inappropriate,” Rachel asks, raising her chin and raking her eyes over David. She looks back to Mr. Schuester. “What about Kurt?”

“This would never have gone through without Kurt’s and his father’s approval,” he says, and even David has to look at him in surprise.

“Kur-- Hummel okayed this?” David asks, trying not to sound as shocked as he feels.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Schue.” Kurt marches in, arms clasped around his leather man-bag, head held high. He has a brown cap on his head and he looks like he just stepped out of that old-ass movie with Christian Bale, _Newies_ or whatever. David looks down and smirks a little at the floor.

Rachel links her arm with Kurt’s and they take their seats, thankfully far, far away from David.

“All right, kids,” Mr. Schuester says once everybody’s settled, clapping his hands. “By now, you must all be aware of our new addition.”

Puck grumbles something David is sure isn’t very nice under his breath.

“What was that, Mr. Puckerman?”

Puck sits back in his seat and crosses his arms casually behind his head. “Nothin’, Mr. Schue.”

“Anyway, David, have you prepared a song?”

If David didn’t know any better, he’d think Mr. Schuester was delighting in his utter humiliation. But he has to remind himself that Mr. Schuester’s been the one adult who hasn’t looked at him like he’s:

> a.) a monster  
>  b.) a fuck-up  
>  c.) a pathetic charity case  
>  d.) some sort of combo of the previous three

“Yeah, I did,” David sighs, opening his book bag and pulling out some looseleaf pages. “I didn’t have time to memorize the lines or anything.” He gets up and heads to the front of the room, eyes on the lyrics he’d scribbled down on the paper.

“That’s fine, David.” Mr. Schuester pushes the microphone stand over to him.

The room is so quiet, David thinks he could hear a pin drop. He wonders what they’re all thinking. They’re probably waiting for him to fall flat on his face. David wraps one hand around the microphone and looks down at the paper.

David clears his throat. “Um. I’m kinda new at this whole singing thing, so. No rotten fruit or vegetables, please.” He laughs weakly at his own lame joke and looks down quickly at his paper before he starts singing. “ _You've got to trust your instinct and let go of regret. You've got to bet on yourself now, star, ‘cause that's your best bet_ . . .”

David hears Puck whisper loudly, “Is he seriously singing 311,” and he stumbles over the next line. There are a few scattered snickers from the group, but Mr. Schuester hushes them.

Keeping his eyes on the paper and the hastily scribbled lines makes it easier to ignore the whispers. And the song is kind of bad-ass, anyways. David bets they don’t regularly sing 311 in glee club.

David can’t help but kind of get into it now and he might even be tapping his foot and swaying a little to the music (that he’s hearing in his head, since the lame-ass band doesn’t know 311). _Might_ be. If any of them call him on it, though, he’ll deny it until the day he dies.

“ _Now it's morning but last night's on my mind. There's something I need to get off my chest and no matter what may come to shine, the dream will always be mine._.”

He has no idea what the hell the lyrics even _mean_ and he’s not really sure it matters. It’s probably just gibberish. He likes the band though, and there’s no way in hell anyone would catch him singing fucking _Michael Bublé_ or some shit like that. No way.

David steals a glance up from the paper and catches Kurt looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Kurt looks down hastily when he realizes David’s noticed him watching.

It’s really not that hard to sing the song. David imagines the beat and the music in his head, and he just sings along even though there’s no music playing. None of the musicians knew how to play the song.

“ _And why did I try when I knew it was no and why did I try when I say it was so, but save it for late when we should just let it skate ’cause the waiting feel is fine, oh_.” David lets go of the microphone, finished, but he’s almost afraid to look up and see what the others’ reactions are. He can hardly believe he’s just done that, that he’s just _sung_ in front of actual people and not just in the lockerroom showers when no one’s around to hear it.

The silence is deafening, however, and all the reaction he needs. He pushes the microphone away and hurries to his seat, shoving the crumpled roll of paper into his back pocket

“That was great, David,” Mr. Schuester says, getting up and stepping to the front of the room. David knows he’s just humoring him though. Mr. Schuester is probably like that with all the kids, no matter how much they suck.

The Asian goth girl leans over and gives David an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “That was really good,” she says, earning a smack on the arm from Mike. “What? It was.”

Mike just shakes his head at her. 

Then Mr. Schuester launches into this detailed explanation about that day’s project, but David only sort of pays attention. He spends more time glancing all sneakily over at Kurt and wondering what him and Rachel are talking about, or what’s on Kurt’s mind that has him furrowing his forehead like that. Rachel has his ear about something, of course, and Kurt gamely nods along, although his eyes are glazed over with boredom.

“So,” Mr. Schuester says, and his loud, obnoxiously cheery voice regains David’s wandering attention span, “we’ll be breaking off into groups of three and four. Your assignment is to come up with performances for the assembly that best embody McKinley’s values.”

“Assembly?” David asks aloud. He’d kind of zoned out there a little bit.

“Weren’t you even paying attention?” Kurt scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Mind wandered off,” David mutters, looking away.

“Color me surprised,” Kurt replies, his tone catty.

Mr. Schuester glances at David briefly. “All right, kids, come on. Get into groups.” 

He’s trying his best to sound encouraging and David has to give him props for even bothering, but he can hear the slight strain of frustration under his forced tone. It’s a tone David is well aware of and more than used to. 

David looks up and around. Finn, Rachel, Sam and Kurt have formed one group, Mercedes, Quinn, and Puck have formed another, and Artie, Tina and Mike make up the last group. Brittany and Santana seem in no hurry to join any of the other three groups, so David wanders over to the two of them and pulls up an empty seat.

“Hey.” David nods to the two girls. Brittany stares at him with a vacant, dopey expression on her face and Santana doesn’t even look over. Apparently he’s not worth her time. She’s too busy looking at the back of her hand.

“Hi,” Brittany says.

Santana finally looks over at him and regards him coolly, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Who told you you could join our group, missing link?”

David bristles and clenches his jaw. “Nobody,” he says, glaring at her defiantly.

“I like sausage,” Brittany says, smiling at him.

Both David and Santana blink at her in confusion. “Sausage?”

“Missing link made me think about sausage links,” Brittany says, smile widening.

“I like sausage too, I guess,” David replies, with a one-shouldered shrug.

It doesn’t go as badly as he had expected it to. Brittany is okay. She doesn’t seem to get why she shouldn’t be talking to him, despite all of Santana’s pointed glares and elbows to the side. He doubts Santana even knows the whole story about what happened between him, Kurt and Azimio, though.

Once the period is over, David grabs his jacket and starts to leave, but someone grabs him on the shoulder and he spins around, raising the Fury, prepared to fight.

“Whoa, David, it’s just me.” Mr. Schuester smiles nervously at him and pulls his hand back. “I’d like to have a talk with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, sure.” David drops his arm and glances beyond Mr. Schuester’s shoulder at Kurt, as he leaves with Mercedes. She glances up at David and gives him a disapproving look, mouth pursed like she just sucked on a lemon or something.

Kurt doesn’t so much as look at him as he walks by.

Mr. Schuester’s talk consists of ‘ground rules’ that David thinks were mostly Burt Hummel’s idea. He can’t get into anymore trouble. Check. He’s to treat Kurt with respect. Check. If he even lifts a finger against anyone in glee club, he’s out. Check. He half expects Hummel to pop up in the choir room-- maybe he’s been hiding behind the drum set the whole time or something-- to ambush him.

 _Should be easy enough to stay out of trouble, though_ , David thinks.

He realizes soon after, though, that Kurt is bent on destroying him.

-

He shows up to school the next day in a skirt.

“It’s a kilt,” Kurt explains to Mercedes. 

David has no real reason to be by Kurt’s locker; his first hour class is on the other side of the building. He’s just used to going out of his way to find Kurt and shove him into hard surfaces like walls and lockers. Force of habit he has yet to break, he guesses.

“It’s a skirt.” Mercedes puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head a little.

Kurt pulls a book out of his locker and pauses to check his reflection in a tiny hand-held mirror. “I’m getting in touch with my Scottish roots.”

“But you’re not Scottish.”

“Okay. Then I’m trying to challenge the status quo.” Kurt tucks the book in his man-bag and smiles. “I’m trying to make people think.”

Mercedes eyes Kurt suspiciously. “You’ve got something up your sleeve.”

“Who, me?” Kurt shoulders the strap of his leather bag and shuts his locker. He offers Mercedes a smile that would be sweet and unassuming if David didn’t know any better.

David decides to make his presence known and he carelessly and _completely_ accidentally brushes his shoulder against Kurt’s as he walks past the two of them. There’s more than enough space on the other side of the hallway, but whatever.

“Watch where you’re going, you big dumb gorilla,” Kurt fires after him.

David pauses and turns, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Why don’t you watch where _you’re_ going? I got as much right to be in this hallway as you two do.”

Kurt makes a funny face, brow scrunching, like he hadn’t considered that before or something. The look flickers and disappears, and David can’t even really be sure he saw it. “You bumped into me on purpose.”

David marches back over to Kurt and Mercedes, but he’s careful not to get _too_ close. And he keeps his hands clenched into fists in his pockets to keep from doing anything too dumb. “Nice skirt.” He smirks.

“It’s a _kilt_ ,” Kurt says through gritted teeth.

“Looks like a skirt to me.”


End file.
